Why does one person
need a whole solar system?
The person at the center
My name is Gergely Kovács. I live in Budapest and I design software systems for a living — the big, load-bearing, unglamorous kind that has to still be standing in ten years. Bonvo is my consultancy; gregorysmith.eu is the CV-shaped version of me. Everything else in this sky is what happens when the workday ends and the curiosity doesn't.
What all of this actually is
Every planet up there is real and mine. A 3D map of ski resorts, because flat piste maps lie about mountains. An AI concierge you can literally phone, in Hungarian, that wrestles invoices and paperwork so a human doesn't have to. Tiny sites that get windows quoted, air conditioners priced and public-space permits filed. A news experiment. And one planet that exists purely out of love — a tribute to a friend who designs beautiful things.
Nobody assigned any of these to me. All of them felt inevitable.
Why so many different things
Because ideas don't arrive in a polite queue, and I stopped forcing them into one. A domain name costs about as much as a pizza, but it works like a promise: future me now owes present me a build. Some of these planets are businesses. Some are tools. Some are toys. Some are love letters. I've given up pretending those categories deserve different levels of care — they all get built properly or not at all.
Why I'm like this
Making things is how I think. A system on a whiteboard is a guess; a system in production is a fact — and I would rather own ten small facts than one perfect guess. Every planet here taught me something no book could: how people actually call a phone bot, what makes a quote form convert, how far a weekend can stretch.
So the sky keeps filling. And if you spot an empty orbit — it isn't unfinished. It's reserved.